Transgression All Night Long
by Celli
Summary: Vaughn indulges his hockey urges. Sydney indulges her fun-loving urges. Celli indulges her S/V urges.


Feedback: Positive or negative both welcome. celli@fanfic101.com  
Category: S/V UST-like fluff, challenge fic, humor (one hopes)  
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: Most of S1; this takes place in an alternate universe where   
"Rendezvous" and "Almost Thirty Years" haven't happened (at least not   
yet).  
Summary: Vaughn indulges his hockey urges. Sydney indulges her fun-  
loving urges. Celli indulges her S/V urges.  
Archiving: Credit Dauphine and my site (www.fanfic101.com); otherwise   
just tell me so I can come visit.  
Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC, and various other people   
with lawyers. Sadly, this means Vaughn will never be mine.   
  
Author's notes at the end.  
  
***  
  
Transgression All Night Long  
by Celli Lane  
  
"An adventure is a transgression you don't regret."--Kate Wheeler  
  
***  
  
The side door was open, just as the coded email had said. Sydney   
hitched her gym bag higher on her shoulder and stepped in.  
  
The ice rink probably wasn't huge, but with no one around, it *felt*   
huge. The only sounds were the *snick* of the door closing--she reached   
behind her to lock it automatically--and the *whoosh* of a lone pair of   
skates on the ice. It wasn't much like the warehouse--but if they went   
there every time, Security Section might actually get a clue.  
  
She was not surprised to see her handler in jeans and a jersey, batting   
a puck around on the ice. She was surprised at the emblem on the   
jersey, though.  
  
"Michigan?"  
  
Vaughn whirled to face her. Sydney noticed that he never lost control   
of the puck. "What? Oh. I went to law school there."  
  
"Really? I...guess I didn't know that." She wanted to ask him if he'd   
enjoyed it, if he'd clerked or gone straight into the CIA, if he'd taken   
a bar exam. But she stopped herself as always. *Come on, say   
something. Even something stupid.* "So they have a good hockey team?"   
*That worked.*  
  
"The best! I never missed a game in three years." He opened the door   
leading to the home team bench. "Did you bring your skates?"  
  
"Vaughn...I have a confession to make." He raised an eyebrow. "I   
didn't recognize the address in the email, so...uh--" She opened her   
gym bag and displayed her Rollerblades.  
  
"Oh, man." He stared down at the ice; she could see him flush. "I feel   
like an idiot."  
  
"No, I should have known you meant ice skates. I know you and hockey."  
  
"No, *I*--" He laughed and caught her eye. "We sound stupid."  
  
She plopped down onto the bench. "Yeah. We should just do the   
debriefing."  
  
"Right. Right." He dropped his stick near the puck, executed a jazzy   
little turn and stepped up beside her. "How was London?"  
  
"Rainy and cold, and the girl next to me on the plane talked about   
soccer the whole way. She wants to have some midfielder's child,"   
Sydney said solemnly. "Dixon had his headphones on full volume by the   
end of the flight. I was right next to her, so it would have been rude   
for me to do the same."  
  
Vaughn grinned. "You can't fool me. You liked her."  
  
"I did," she admitted. "She was really funny, and so enthusiastic. I   
don't remember what it was like to be that passionate about anything. I   
felt old just talking to her."  
  
"And the mission--?"  
  
"Fine, fine." She pulled a notebook from under the Rollerblades. "We   
intercepted the transmission, and I wrote it all down for you on the   
plane back. I told Dixon it was notes for my thesis. If I ever want to   
write a thesis on really boring top-secret documents, I'm all set."  
  
"Great. Ah, Sydney?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Is there a reason you're not looking me in the eye?"  
  
She winced. "There was a small problem. Very small. I just had to   
create a distraction, and--I mean, it worked--and they didn't have to   
evacuate for very long--"  
  
"Sydney."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Please tell me you're not talking about what I think you're talking   
about."  
  
"Oh. It was on the news, huh?"  
  
He dropped his head to the Plexiglass wall next to him. "You didn't."  
  
"It was a small fire. Very small."  
  
"You said that already." His voice was muffled. "Syd, you set   
Buckingham Palace on fire."  
  
"I didn't *mean* to!"  
  
"Do you realize that they questioned Ozzy Osbourne as a suspect in   
that?"  
  
"Oh."  
  
He sat down beside her. "I realize you have much more experience in the   
spy trade than me, but somewhere in the rulebook doesn't it say   
something about *not* destroying buildings of state?"  
  
"I didn't destroy it! It was a very small fire." She gestured to the   
approximate height. "Stop laughing, Vaughn. It's very unprofessional."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"No you're not!"  
  
"Not really, no. It's just--I can't believe you set a palace on fire."  
  
"I didn't have any paper at hand, so I had to use Phil Collins'   
autograph to start it, too. I was kinda bummed."  
  
"Remind me never to send you to Paris. I'd be afraid for the Eiffel   
Tower. Ow!" He rubbed his side. "Sharp elbow there."  
  
"I did them a favor."  
  
"You what?"  
  
"Dress rehearsals are supposed to go badly." He groaned. "Well? I   
heard the actual party was a blast."  
  
"Because of you?"  
  
She shrugged. "Who has a dress rehearsal for their birthday party   
anyway?"  
  
"The Queen of England?" he suggested dryly.  
  
She rolled her eyes.  
  
"Come on," he said. Vaughn jumped to his feet and tugged on her arm.  
  
"What?"  
  
He pulled her towards the ice.  
  
"I don't have skates!"  
  
"That's okay. Haven't you ever played broomball?" He shook his head at   
the blank look on her face. "Deprived child."  
  
"I was chased by K Directorate in Uzbekistan once. Sheer ice, stiletto   
heels. I sprained *both* ankles. Does that count?"  
  
"No. Come here."  
  
Sydney inched out onto the ice. Her tennis shoes slid a little before   
they found purchase, and Vaughn grabbed her arms. "Whoa!" He balanced   
her and guided her until she was standing on top of his skates. "Okay.   
You set?" He started skating backwards.  
  
Sydney turned a squeak into a laugh and threw her arms around his neck.  
  
They made a circuit of the rink and even managed a couple of slow spins   
before Sydney unlocked her elbows and smiled up at Vaughn. "Cool."  
  
He grinned back, right into her eyes. Sydney held her breath for a   
moment. But he looked away. "So, anything else I need to know about   
the mission?"  
  
She stared at the gold lettering on his jersey. "The SD-6 wardrobe   
people are on crack. My dresses are getting smaller by the second."  
  
He laughed, but she noticed that he leaned back a little. "You know   
what your nickname is at the office?"  
  
She eyed him suspiciously. "What?"  
  
"Well, Donna--my assistant--calls you Jane Bond. But Eric calls you Spy   
Barbie."  
  
"*What*?" She almost fell off his feet.  
  
"Um..." He rubbed his forehead. "Shouldn't've said that, huh?"  
  
She stared at him for a long moment. "Well, you know what they say."  
  
"Sometimes the truth hurts?"  
  
She smirked. "No. Eric's dead meat."  
  
And then they were both laughing until they had to grab onto the side of   
the rink to keep from falling over.  
  
When Sydney finally caught her breath, she realized that she was leaning   
against Vaughn. She straightened so fast she almost bumped into his   
chin. *I should go, Vaughn,* her brain prompted. *I need to get home,   
Vaughn. Thanks, Vaughn, but I have to leave...*  
  
"So do you have to be any place soon?" Vaughn asked.  
  
"No." *Oops...* "Why?"  
  
"We didn't know when you'd get here, so the CIA rented this place for   
the whole night."  
  
"What do you think we should do?" She bit down on her tongue and   
attempted to look innocent.  
  
He grinned again. Sydney bit down harder. "I think we should pick the   
lock on the skate rental office and borrow you some skates."  
  
"Vaughn!"  
  
"What? If you're going to break the rules, break them well."  
  
"All right, all right."   
  
There was a long pause as she got turned in the right direction without   
falling over. She threw an arm around his waist the third time she   
slipped.  
  
"Vaughn?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Tell me about law school."  
  
Another pause. "Well, I had two roommates. One was a Navy lieutenant   
who wanted to go into JAG, and one was the skinniest kid you ever saw.   
His name was Harold, and he was from Memphis, Tennessee." He drawled   
the last sentence, and she laughed.  
  
"Do you still talk to them?"  
  
"Yeah. We get together once a year or so."  
  
"And go to hockey games?"  
  
"No. Oh, no. Not after what happened third year."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Look, pucks get loose sometimes!" Vaughn said defensively. "Is it my   
fault it came our way?"  
  
"No?"  
  
"I still maintain that the cracked skull made him a better lawyer."  
  
This time when she laughed too hard, there was nothing to hold onto   
except him, so she pulled him with her and they collapsed in a giggling   
heap on the ice. Sydney listened to their sounds echoing through the   
building and thought, *yeah. I'll break the rules with you.*  
  
*All night long.*  
  
--the end--  
  
Notes: Title by Gail, quote by JenC, hockey by AeroGirl, soccer by Kat,   
ending by Diana, justification by Jada, challenge by Hill, porn   
extension by Thorne, fluff by Celli, body by Nautilus. Or something.   
*big hugs* I lurve you guys!  
  
Also, I conflated the Queen's birthday and anniversary. I doubt she'll   
mind. And no, they didn't really question Ozzy Osbourne as a suspect in   
the fire. *g* 


End file.
